⚽️Chapter 14: Sweet home 2

As the players finished their cooldown stretches, Coach Park gathered them in a loose semicircle. The sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows across the pitch, but the heat of victory still glowed on their faces.

He folded his arms behind his back, eyes scanning the group—sharp, proud, unreadable.

"You did exactly what I expected of you," he began, voice calm but firm. "Five goals. Zero conceded. Dominant football. I'm proud of each and every one of you."

Some boys exchanged quiet smiles, others nodded, exhausted but satisfied. Min Son stood still, wiping sweat from his brows, eyes quietly watching the coach.

Coach Park turned to Jin-Woo.

"You," he said with a short nod, "had a really good game today. You're starting to move like a real striker. Not just finishing, but connecting play, drawing defenders, making space. Your buildup play has improved by miles."

Jin-Woo looked down, fists subtly clenching at his sides—conflicted between the praise and the bitter taste of being passed over for MVP.

Then Coach Park's gaze shifted.

"Min Son."

The boy straightened, the slightest expectation glinting in his eyes.

"You were brilliant today. One goal, one assist, record-breaking pass accuracy, unstoppable on the dribble…"

Min Son almost smiled—but the coach raised a finger.

"…But from now on, no more Blitz Curlers in this tournament."

Min Son blinked. "Coach, I—"

Coach Park shook his head, tone still calm but sharper now. "No."

"That move wastes too many chances. Three of your attempts were from impossible angles. If even one of those turned into a grounded pass, we might've scored two more goals."

A hush fell over the players. Min Son looked down at the grass for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. The Blitz Curler—his signature, his pride—wasn't just a move. It was his statement. But the coach's word was final.

"I'm not saying it's not a beautiful weapon," Park added, softer this time. "But right now, we need results more than experiments. Save it. One day it'll win us a final—but today, it nearly cost us momentum."

Min Son gave a small nod. "Yes, coach."

"Good." Coach Park clapped his hands. "Two wins down. One more group match to go. Remember—next match is war.

Dismissed.

---

The others were already drifting toward the bus when Coach Park called out quietly, "Min Son, stay behind."

Min Son paused, blinking, then nodded. The murmur of teammates faded as they filed out, leaving the two of them alone on the field bathed in sunset's soft gold.

Coach Park walked over and placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder—solid, approving. His face wasn't just proud; it was reverent. Like he was staring at something precious. "You did good," he said simply.

Then, without ceremony, he slipped a folded bill into Min Son's hand. A crisp ₩130,000 note—around a hundred dollars.

Min Son stared at it, stunned. For a moment, he couldn't move.

Coach Park's smile deepened. "Use it wisely."

The boy lowered his head, bowing deep. "Thank you… Coach."

For someone like Min Son—who had memorized the sound of empty dinner pots and watched his mother count coins for medicine—this wasn't just money. It was belief. It was acknowledgment. It was power.

As he walked toward the waiting bus, he whispered to himself, "When I go pro, I'll give Mum a life she never had. No more pain. No more begging for strength."

The bus buzzed with laughter and chatter. Most of the players were riding home—parents hadn't shown up this time. It was an easy match, after all. Nothing too serious, they thought.

Except for Min Son, everything was serious.

Juho's father had come again, as always. The kind of man who always waved from the sidelines. Others had similar parents. But not Min Son. He tucked the money into the deepest part of his bag and climbed onto the bus.

On the other side of the lot, Jin-Woo stood frozen. His car was waiting, driver staring at him from the windshield. But the boy wouldn't move.

He knew what was waiting at home.

The sneer. The slap. The endless repetition:

"How do you lose MVP to a low-life? You're not my son."

His hands tightened on his bag straps. His knuckles whitened. But he didn't move.

---

🚌 IN THE BUS

Min Son's stop came quickly. He got off with a nod, and the bus rumbled away.

Instead of heading straight home, he turned toward the neighborhood's old mini-market—a place he hadn't been to in a while.

The smell hit him first.

Bulgogi rice bowls.

The same kind his mother used to buy for him when things were still okay. When they were still… a family.

There was a line, of course. Always was. The woman behind the stall was famous in the neighborhood for her cooking. As he stood in the queue, people bumped shoulders and murmured prices. Min Son just stared at the steam rising from the bowls like it was a dream.

Finally, his turn came.

"How many plates?" the woman asked.

He opened his mouth. "Two."

But then he paused.

He could still hear his father's drunken voice from nights past. The curses. The bottles shattering. The shouts. The disappointment.

He didn't deserve anything, that man.

But still—

"…Three," Min Son said.

Because in the end, he's still my father.

The seller smiled and packed the bowls. Min Son reached into his bag, peeled off a portion of the money Coach gave him, and paid in full.

Before he left, he stopped by a tiny sports shop tucked in the corner of the market. The glass was smudged, the sign faded. But behind it, in the display—boots.

He found a pair that fit. Nothing flashy. No brand names screamed. Just clean, black boots. Strong laces.

He bought them, too.

By the time he walked home, his hands were full—food in one, the boots in another, and the kind of quiet happiness that only kids like him ever truly loved.

🏡 AT HOME

Min Son stood at the door of his house, a smile on his face and a warm bag of food in his hands. He'd even bought three plates—two for his mum and himself... and one for his dad.

"He's still my father… right?"

But the moment he stepped inside, everything shifted.

Laughter.

Not his mum's laughter. No... this was loud, flirtatious, disgusting.

"Ahh~ you're so naughty. Fine, you can touch me there—only because I like you~"

His heart dropped.

That was not his mother's voice.

He stepped into the living room—and there she was. His mum, curled up on the floor, head buried in her arms. Sobbing silently.

"Mom…?" he whispered, but she didn't even flinch.

He already knew.

He walked straight to his father's room, footsteps heavy.

He opened the door.

And there it was.

His father, half-naked, lying on the bed with a woman Min Son had never seen before. She was laughing, playing with her hair, with only a bra on and no shame in her eyes.

Min Son stood frozen.

"What did you do to her…?" he said, voice low.

His father didn't answer. He just chuckled and reached toward the woman again.

"I said… WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" Min Son's voice cracked.

The man looked back slowly. "This brat again."

In one move, he got up and grabbed Min Son by the collar. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

Min Son struggled. His father's grip was too tight.

Desperate, he bit his arm.

"AHH!! YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—!"

Min Son escaped, his hands shaking. His eyes landed on the beer bottle beside the bed. Without thinking, he grabbed it, smashed it on the wall.

CRACK!

Glass shards flew. He held the jagged neck tight, breathing hard.

"DON'T. TOUCH. HER. AGAIN." He glared.

His father froze, then roared. "You wanna fight me?! I'll end you!"

He charged.

Min Son was too slow.

A punch landed in his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Another hit grazed his cheek.

He fell to the floor.

Then his mum appeared—running in, screaming, trying to stop the madness. "Stop! PLEASE!"

A loud smack across her face.

She dropped.

"Mom—!" Min Son cried, crawling toward her.

His father reached for the broken bottle.

The boy raised his arms, trying to shield his face. "NO—"

But the strike never came.

"ENOUGH!!"

A voice shouted.

The woman—the one from the bed—had shoved Min Son's father backward.

"I didn't come here for this!" she screamed.

She turned to Min Son, tears streaming. "I just… I wanted to hurt your mum. Bora… she stole my boyfriend back in school and ruined my life because of that. I thought… if I slept with her husband, it would hurt her."

She looked back at the drunken mess of a man. Then to the terrified boy and unconscious woman on the floor.

"But you…" her voice broke, "you're worse than trash. Are you even human?"

She helped Min Son up gently and pushed him toward his mum.

"Go. Take care of her."

Then she looked at the man one last time. "I thought revenge would satisfy me. But marrying you is already punishment enough."

She walked out, wiping her tears.

Silence returned.

Min Son knelt beside his mother, holding her trembling body. She clutched his sleeve weakly.

And for the first time in a long time, he cried too